


Off the boat and into the water

by BakedAppleSauce



Series: The desert is a waste of time [19]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: (if you squint), (maybe some feelings are in there too), Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, once again this is just utter filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 17:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakedAppleSauce/pseuds/BakedAppleSauce
Summary: “Bear with me for a bit, mate?” Alfie says. “Yeah? You gonna do that?”“I…” Tommy says and Alfie knows he wants to ask for details, wants to know what exactly it is he’s agreeing to, because that is just the way he’s wired, and Alfie can understand that impulse, really he can, because he’s not much different. Still, he doesn’t feel like explaining anything right now.In which Alfie has... an idea.(Part of a bigger overall AU, but makes complete sense by itself.)





	Off the boat and into the water

Tommy pads back into the bedroom in nothing but a towel, which isn’t really something that has ever happened before. It’s not like he always insists on being impeccably dressed, at least not around the house, but he very rarely goes around without a stitch of clothing on. (Refuses to go the bathroom naked after they’ve fucked, even, despite the fact that nobody is around to see him apart from Alfie and, well… usually, by this point, Alfie’s already seen everything there is to see. )

Earlier this evening, he showed up completely drenched and two hours late, which would bother Alfie more if that actually _ meant _ something. Generally, any time they meet up, they’ll agree on a day and if the other person doesn't manage to show up until midnight, _ maybe _a courtesy call is in order. Still, Alfie made a big production out of having to wait by the stove, keeping the light on like some ordinary housewife, while Tommy had been as unimpressed by his tirade as he always was. 

"S'not even raining, mate," Alfie had said, curiously watching him drip onto the carpet. "The fuck did you _ do?" _

"Nothing," Tommy had said, dismissive, which wasn't an assessment Cyril seemed to agree with, because apparently Tommy seemed to _ smell _ of very interesting things. 

"Sure," Alfie had said, good-natured. "Last time I did nothing, right, I almost drowned too, didn't I. Right round the corner, actually, on dry fuckin' land, if you can believe it, 'cause it's a dangerous world we live in, mate, innit-" 

"Fell off a boat," Tommy had conceded then, reluctantly, very obviously just to make Alfie stop talking; he petted Cyril's head a bit without paying him much attention, and Alfie'd tried his absolute best not to grin at that information and asked, _ "Fell _ off?" 

"Yeah," Tommy'd said, chin coming up like a challenge, and Alfie, delighted, had said, "Some poor cunt pushed you off a fuckin' boat, didn’t they." 

(He’d gotten no reply, so he probably wasn't too far off with his assumption.) 

Tommy had disappeared into the bathroom after that, wet clothes and all, and Alfie’d figured it was best to just leave him to it. The clothes are gone, now, probably still in the bathroom; neatly suspended from the coat hooks Tommy’d taken with him, if Alfie had to guess, hung out to dry somewhere. Tommy Shelby is nothing if not self-sufficient. 

Now he’s standing there in just his towel, which isn’t a bad sight, all things considered. Alfie, propped up against the headboard of the bed, realizes he’s staring at the book in Alfie’s hand. Probably because of colorful cover that unmistakably identifies it as something aimed at children. 

“Fairy tales?” Tommy says as he sits down on the edge of the bed, seeming strangely interested, before Alfie realizes that he probably can’t read the Cyrillic alphabet, so he can’t decipher the title, which is where the interest comes from. 

“Yeah,” he says, and closes the book, losing his page in the process (doesn’t matter anyway, he was just browsing, and he knows the stories by heart). Holds it up one-handed, so Tommy can have a proper look. _ “Folk-tales for young and old,” _he translates and watches Tommy’s eyes flit over the symbols, very clearly trying to match up the individual words with their respective meaning. 

“Do the letters mean the same?” he says. “The ‘H’ for example…? That the same as in English?”

“Ermm…” Alfie says, caught off guard, and has to turn the book around again to look at the title himself, staring at it through his glasses with narrowed eyes. “No,” he says then. “No, right, that’s… the same as an ‘N’ actually, mate.”

“Hm,” Tommy says, a small, intrigued sound and Alfie leans forward, catches his mouth before he can say anything else. They kiss for a bit, relaxed and easy, until Tommy puts a heavy hand on Alfie’s thigh, drags himself up the bed a bit more. Alfie curls two fingers into space between his torso and the towel, tugs at it a bit. 

“Just came in here because I needed another coat hanger,” Tommy murmurs against his mouth. (Because romance is fucking dead, apparently.) “And ideally, some newspaper as well.”

_ “You, _ right, you’re very fucking demanding tonight, mate,” Alfie says, amused. “Also, that is never gonna dry until the morning, yeah, I’m telling you right now.”

“We’ll see about that,” Tommy says, but he doesn’t try to move away. Alfie curls his fingers some more, keeps tugging until the towel comes loose. He can’t fling it away, since Tommy is half-sitting on it, so he leaves it where it is, letting it fall open. 

“Do us a favor, mate?”

Tommy looks at him skeptically. “What.”

“Could you maybe, right, just put that…” and he takes off his glasses as he says it, puts them on top of the book in his hand and holds everything out for Tommy to take. “...over there? Yeah? On top of the nightstand?” 

Tommy turns his head, tellingly stares at the nightstand that is literally right there, right next to them.

“Well, that’s yours, though, innit,” Alfie says. “And this? Yeah? S’my book, all right, so it really should be on my side of the bed, shouldn’t it.”

He’s honestly expecting him to say no, but to his surprise, Tommy takes everything out of his hands, before he pulls his legs up onto the mattress, completely losing the towel in the process, and clambers across the bed. He’s weirdly graceful about it, too, naked and not caring about that at all, which is a relatively new development. 

Alfie stares at him, absolutely shameless; at the movement of his shoulder as he put the book down onto the nightstand, glasses held against the cover with one thumb, at the long expanse of his back, the shift of skin and muscle, at his arse. Thinks, all of a sudden, how he wants to put his mouth there, which is a strange fucking thing to think, probably, but then again… a lot of people keep insisting that he’s a strange fucking person anyway, so that’s fair enough, Alfie thinks. He’s entitled to his strange thoughts. He’s earned them.

“C’mere,” he says, and Tommy gives him an annoyed look. 

“Which one bloody is it, eh?” he says, but he’s already moving back across the bed. Alfie puts a hand over the back of his neck as soon as he’s within reach, kisses him again. Tommy bites down over his lower lip, not too gentle about it, and Alfie bodily pushes him down until he’s flat against the mattress, one of his hands buried in Alfie’s hair. 

They make out for a while, like they’re a lot younger than they actually are.

“You really should…” Tommy murmurs eventually and he sounds a bit dazed, making a half-aborted gesture towards the nightstand. 

“Yeah?” Alfie murmurs back. “You in the mood?”

Tommy has the nerve to roll his eyes at him. “No,” he says and still manages to sound sarcastic, despite the fact that he looks as relaxed as he’s ever going to get, probably. “Was thinking you could hand me my cigarettes, actually.”

“Yeahhh,” Alfie says, distracted. Now the idea is just there, isn’t it, stuck in the back of Alfie’s mind like a pebble in a shoe. “In a minute, mate.” And then, out of nowhere, he hears himself say, “Turn around a bit for us? Hm? C’mon, mate, just...”

Tommy blinks at him, looking a bit surprised, which is understandable, Alfie supposes, because it’s not like they do it like that very often. Once in a while, yeah, when Alfie really feels like giving it to him, wants to put his back into it a little, which isn’t exactly the mood right now. But still, after a moment of hesitation he goes, turning over onto his stomach.

“Up you go,” Alfie says and once again, Tommy does what he’s told without protest; lifts himself up to balance on the bed on his hands and knees, which makes Alfie feel strangely protective and like an absolute fucking savage at the same time, because Tommy being wordlessly obedient like that makes Alfie want to ruin him for anybody else, each and every single time. Tommy is still watching him, now looking over his shoulder. He seems confused, maybe even a bit wary. 

“Don’t want the oil?” he says, voice gone a bit gravelly already and Alfie shakes his head. 

“Nahh, mate,” he murmurs and puts one of his hands on the small of Tommy’s back, watches his muscles shift at the contact. “Hold your fucking horses. Maybe in a bit, yeah.”

God, he thinks, feeling dazed, Tommy’s got really pretty skin. Which is a weird thing to think, probably, and also not something he’s ever consciously noticed before, but he does so now. He rubs over a spot on Tommy’s back with his thumb, before he’s moving his whole hand, adding a bit of pressure, like he’s trying to soothe. He’s got a nice arse too, generally speaking, pale like everything else, skin still warm from the bathwater. 

(Tommy is in the habit of taking scalding hot baths whenever he has the time, which one could probably trace back to a childhood spent without indoor plumbing. Never stays in there for very long, but he definitely enjoys the water at a temperature that seems to be just shy of boiling him alive.) There is a thin, white scar on his right flank, about two inches long, probably from some kind of cut. Alfie’s noticed it before, rubs over it with two fingers now, thumb pressing into the cheek of his arse a bit. Applies more pressure, so it gets pulled to the side just a little. 

Tommy makes a content sound. Alfie echos him, pushes harder with his thumb. Puts his other hand on the other side of his arse and carefully pulls it apart, which makes Tommy shift his weight from one leg to the other and back again. It’s hard to tell if it’s an uncomfortable reaction or not. Alfie stares for a bit – imagines all the things he could do, all the things he has done in the past. Could get the oil out of the nightstand, slick him up, push deep with his fingers. He knows what to do by now, knows what Tommy likes and what he loves, what makes him flinch and what makes him hiss through his teeth; has it all catalogued and stored away in the safety of his head. 

“Tommy,” he says and Tommy says, “Yeah?” sounding unsure again, like he can feel the way Alfie is hovering on the edge of something new, not quite indecisive, but also not quite there yet. “Bear with me for a bit, mate? Yeah? You gonna do that?”

“I…” Tommy says and Alfie knows he wants to ask for details, wants to know what exactly it is he’s agreeing to, because that is just the way he’s wired, and Alfie can understand that impulse, really he can, because he’s not much different. Still, he doesn’t feel like explaining anything right now. “Yeah, yeah, you are,” he says, not exactly trying to be reassuring, but it comes out sounding like that anyway. “You’re gonna be fine, hm?”

“Shut up,” Tommy murmurs, and Alfie grins a bit to himself, because it’s basically an affirmative and it’s not like Tommy can see him anyway.

When he leans down, everything is a bit awkward at first and he has to recalculate, moves one hand back up, splayed over the small of Tommy’s back for balance and spreads his arse wide with the other. His arsehole looks pink and perfectly innocent. (Alfie’s had his cock up there, he thinks. Should seem fucking impossible, just by looking at it, but he did and it was fucking glorious, each and every time Tommy let him do it.) 

He licks one careful, precise stripe with the flat of his tongue, from as far down as he can go, up over Tommy’s hole until he almost connects with his other hand. Underneath him, Tommy freezes up, going stock-still, every single muscle locking in place. He’s even clenching his hole, Alfie realizes, over the strange, underwater sensation that makes his head feel like it’s swimming, because Alfie can fucking _ see _it, it’s right there, impossible to miss. 

He honestly expected Tommy to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, sounding scandalised, because that’s what he always does when he’s not opposed to something and doesn’t want to admit to liking it at the same time, but he doesn’t. There’s just silence.

“No?” Alfie asks after a moment, a bit confused and maybe even a bit disappointed as well, because he might have never done this before, but _ fuck, _ for whatever reason he really wanted to try. Tommy is silent for a few seconds longer, almost long enough for Alfie to start worrying he might have fucked up somehow, and then he says, “Shut the fuck up,” in a very strange voice that sounds almost strangled.

“You all right, mate?” Alfie says again, just to clarify, and Tommy says “Christ, I fuckin’ _ hate _you,” except he doesn’t really say it so much as growls it, which is all the confirmation Alfie is ever going to get and they both know it. He bends back down (and fuck, they’re going to have to do something about this position at some point soon, because he’s not going to keep this up for long) and licks at him again, broad stripe, and then just keeps doing that for a bit, slow and precise. 

It’s not that different from sucking cock, he decides. Or well… it_ is, _ probably, as far as things like texture and taste and… actual _ shape _ are concerned, but it doesn’t make him _ feel _any different. On the contrary, he’s so focused on what he’s doing he doesn’t exactly pay attention to anything else for a minute or two, only dimly aware of how Tommy's breathing starts to go harsh. 

“Pillow,” Alfie says eventually, sounding raspy as anything, and Tommy pants “What?”, more inhale than an actual word, and Alfie says “Pillow, gimme a-” before leaning forward and reaching for it himself. He stuffs it underneath Tommy’s hips (and Tommy’s _ hard, _ stiff cock hanging between his legs, and that’s good to know, that’s excellent information to have) and pushes him down onto it, Tommy drawing one of his legs up a bit, all by himself, and… _ fuck, _ Alfie thinks, arousal rushing through him. _ Fucking hell. _ It’s a fucking indecent position to be in, innit, arse in the air, already spread a bit and for anyone to see. (For Alfie to see, anyway. He’s pretty sure he’d lose his mind a bit if it was for anybody else.)

He grabs the other pillow, and settles down against the bed, folding it flat underneath his own chest and now it’s perfect, everything lining up, and he can work with this, he thinks, already mesmerized by Tommy’s hole again, he absolutely can. He’s going to get him so wet it’ll be dripping out of him in no time at all.

This time, when he spreads Tommy arse with both hands, Tommy does make a low noise that sounds almost shocked. He’s already moving a bit, squirming around, probably because he can feel the scrutiny, knows how exposed he is right now, what he must look like. Alfie holds him open, pries him apart with his thumbs and licks at him again, this time not covering the same distance anymore, focused on just his hole. Tommy clenches again, Alfie can fucking _ feel _ it against his tongue, and God, he’s getting hard from this, just from the thought of what must be going through Tommy’s head right now, what it must feel like and how conflicted he has to feel about _ that. _

When he digs his thumbs in and presses the flat of his tongue directly against his hole, rubbing it up and down a bit, Tommy bucks, uncoordinated, like his body’s not sure which direction it wants to go. He’s taking deep, harsh breaths again, Alfie can hear him, paying minute attention now. Rubs his tongue up and down again, once, and Tommy bucks, _ again, _ and then Alfie probably loses his mind for a little bit – because he just keeps doing that, absolutely _ has to _ keep doing that, with single minded, obsessed focus; trying to hold Tommy down as much as he can with what little grip he actually has on him, because Tommy is moving now, rocking forward and then backwards again, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His breath is shuddering in and out of him, desperate panting like he’s just run for miles. 

At some point Alfie carefully circles his tongue, can feel Tommy’s hole fucking flutter at that. Tommy makes a high, surprised noise, which makes Alfie rock down against the mattress in turn, completely involuntarily, body seeking friction. God, he thinks, running hot all over, _ God, _ that boy is going to be the _ death _ of him – because Alfie has him fucking _ twitching _ now, moving around restlessly, another high-strung sound coming out of him every single time Alfie circles his hole with his tongue again. 

He keeps at it like he’s going to fucking win something here, mouth and tongue working; everything wet with spit, jaw starting to ache a bit and when he finally has to pull back for some air, he just keeps rubbing at him with his thumb instead. The visual alone makes his stomach flip and his cock twitch, because the skin is already scraped red with beard burn, everything positively glistening, dripping with spit, muscles in Tommy’s arse visibly working, clenching down and releasing again. Alfie wants to say something, maybe ask him how he’s doing, but he can’t, he’s got no air for that, suddenly. Lets himself tip forward instead, gets his mouth back to where it was.

He probes carefully with his tongue now, and Tommy whines, “Jesus- _ oh, _ Christ, fuck- _ Alfie, _ what’re you-” sounding almost panicked, and Alfie pushes with his tongue, opens him up, works it inside just barely, and Tommy makes another harsh, choked-off noise that almost sounds like his whine got stuck in the back of his throat somewhere and then he’s practically quivering around Alfie’s tongue, hips moving, undulating, and Alfie needs an entire fucking second to realize he’s _ coming, hell, _ he’s losing it already – just because Alfie ate him out a bit, and _ oh, _ but he is a fucking _ sight- _ rocking into the pillow and down against the bed helplessly, muscles working, everything on fucking display apart from his face (which is a fucking shame, Alfie thinks, God his face must be a _ picture _right now), because he’s got his head buried between his arms, almost like he’s trying to protect himself. 

Alfie has to fight the overwhelming urge to go right back to what he was doing, to just… lie back down again and keep at it, fucking him with his tongue until he’s incoherent. But he won’t, he thinks. (Not tonight at least. First time and all.) 

“Tommy,” he says, once he seems to be done with the worst of the aftershocks, wrapping a careful hand around the back of his thigh, right underneath where his arsecheek starts. “Roll over, mate? Yeah? Let’s have a look.”

Tommy makes a protesting noise and stays put. It takes a bit of gentle prodding until he lets himself be coaxed onto his back again and then Alfie has one short, horrible moment where he thinks that maybe he has been _ crying… _ but no, he realizes, Tommy’s just completely red in the face, side of his jaw creased a bit from the covers. He looks… shocked, almost. Maybe a softer version of it. 

Alfie can tell he’s embarrassed, which isn’t that surprising, really. 

“You okay?” he says, and Tommy just blinks up at him. Swallows hard. Alfie lets himself fall forward onto his palms until he’s hovering over him, arms straight, so there is some distance. Only now does he realize that he’s still mostly dressed. 

“Tommy,” he says, very calm. “Answer the question, mate.”

Tommy blinks again. “Yeah,” he says then, almost like he’s just now become aware of the fact that someone is talking to him. “I, I’m… yeah. S’fine.”

“Good,” Alfie says. It takes actual effort not to move at this point, his body wanting to rock forward and into thin air all by itself. _ Fuck, _ he’s hard. He shifts his weight, so he can move one of his arms, except Tommy is moving as well, reaching for him, fumbling at Alfie’s fly. 

“Let me do the honors, yeah?” Alfie says, and now _ he’s _the one that sounds breathless, unbuttoning his trousers so Tommy can get his hand inside. He goes for Alfie’s cock immediately, rubbing at it with his palm, skin against skin and Alfie makes a low noise at how good it feels.

“We’re gonna do this again,” he says, halfway to babbling already, and Tommy’s eyes snap up to his face, mouth falling open a bit. “Yeah? Since you seemed to enjoy yourself, mate? Hm?”

And he’s snapping his hips now, as cautiously as possible, because he’s still feeling a bit sore from the day, Tommy gripping his cock now (with a self-assuredness that makes Alfie feel… _ some _type of way, because fuck, in the beginning you couldn’t even turn the fucking light on without Tommy visibly panicking), stroking up and down as much as he can in the limited space that he has. 

“No, I didn’t,” Tommy says, which is typical, really. He tightens his grip, biting down on his lower lip in concentration and Alfie can feel his shirt sticking to his back with sweat, can feel his knees going weak with impending pleasure.

“Yeahhh,” Alfie says. “Yeah, you fucking did, mate, _ fuck- _ not gonna stop when you’re done, next time, just so you fuckin’ know, right... we’re, we’re gonna keep going, until...”

Tommy’s ears are turning red and he studiously isn’t looking at him, busy shoving his other hand into Alfie’s trousers, which is a tight fit; works the heel of his hand over Alfie’s cockhead, barely even moving it at all, and it still feels so fucking amazing it makes Alfie’s eyes want to close. And then Tommy, still resolutely staring at Alfie’s collarbone instead of his face, murmurs “Until what? Until you fuckin’ _ decide _I’ve had enough?”

Alfie stares down at him, feeling his whole body throb, arousal rushing through him like electricity and then he’s coming; letting his head hang low, mindless of the twinge in his back, breath shuddering out of him, coming and fucking _ coming, _ oh God. _ Fuck. _

“Well,” Tommy says eventually, clear trace of amusement in his voice. “I'm glad I took a fuckin' bath before."

Alfie opens his eyes, surveys the mess he's made. Can't even pretend to be sorry about it. 

"You can take another one," he says, hoarse as anything. "Right? I'll allow it. " 

Tommy kicks against his good leg for that, except it's not really a kick; bumps his knee against the inside of Alfie's thigh, really, dangerously close to his balls. 

"Oi," Alfie says. He's still braced above him, thinking that any minute now he'll manage to tear himself away. "Watch it, yeah." 

"Thought that was your job," Tommy says, unimpressed, looking impossibly relaxed where he’s sprawled out under him and Alfie thinks to himself, yeah. All right. Next time. 

Next time he’s not stopping for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fucking incapable of writing porn without some backstory to it. This proves it.  
Thank you very much @ [xJuniperx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xJuniperx) and [Cymbelines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cymbelines) for feedback, the finding of errors and for generally putting up with me during the writing of this nonsense.
> 
> I'm [bakedapplesauce](https://bakedapplesauce.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
